


Hair

by teasmudge



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bad Dirty Talk, Choking, Ciel challenging everything Sebastian has to say for 6k words. that's it, Ciel is a Tease, Crying, Deepthroating, Demon Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Grooming, Hair Kink, I blame velvetmeridian, I mean... sorta?, Long Hair, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Rough Oral Sex, Sebastian gets a little cray, Smut, Subspace, Voyeurism, Wet & Messy, everything is the same except Ciel has long hair, tendril sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teasmudge/pseuds/teasmudge
Summary: From behind a crack in the door, a devil watches a lovely boy comb his hair.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis & Ciel Phantomhive, Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 44
Kudos: 264





	Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Chrome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromeHoplite/pseuds/ChromeHoplite/) for your godlike patience and eyes. 
> 
> Maybe it's because it has been a while, but it feels like I'm posting for the first time again. c:

After a cloudless luncheon on the terrace, the Young Master retired to his rooms for afternoon’s rest. And his butler, of whom had already tended to the silver, took to winding all of the clocks, in favour of suppressing the overwhelming urge to slither upstairs by busying himself with housework. But he made toward his master’s chambers anyway, for there were garments to press and--

_My, my. What a tempting little thing._

The Young Master’s door had been left unclosed. Just a slit, nowhere near wide enough for anyone to take notice. Not unless, of course, they tried to. A linger of sweet mahogany, crisp and succulent, wafted from its cracked opening like the call of a ripened fruit, ready to be pillaged from its tree. 

The butler’s eyes fizzled copper as he approached the door with pointed feet, for what sinner wouldn’t? Beneath the leather of his passing steps, a furore filled the space between master and butler, one that couldn’t help but sharpen the hunger of the latter’s smile.

_You want to be watched, do you, little lord?_

From the peek in the door, the butler could only see a portion of the room. Lest he use his prowess to infect the entire mansion with the sight of his blackness, but he wouldn’t, of course, because master wanted it this way.

The Young Master sat atop a stool of tufted velvet that had normally remained tucked into the curve of his mirrored dresser. It wasn’t often that he would actually sit down and pamper himself as such. He held a vial of mixed oil in his hands, fiddling his fingers above its shiny closure before taking its drops of gourmand and slathering them upon his pulse, arching, just so. The Young Master was but a bed of sugared flesh, and beneath, violent throbs of sateen blood. A smell, like butter and saccharine, that would soon become the butler’s favourite.

Outside, the hallway sizzled as the butler straightened out the fabric of his trousers and leaned in closer for a better look.

The boy he watched, his master, had set the vial of oil down, a gesture that had dipped the linen of his nightdress over the cream of his shoulder, exposing skin there.

_Master, how you dangle like cherries. Just so that I may see?_

His hair poured like silver wine down the arch of his back as he parted their strands away from his face and moved them to the backs of his ears. A face that the butler could not see. On the side of the dresser closest to the door laid a discarded eye-patch and a metallic plated hairbrush, one that the Young Master reached for, only to trace over its spines of guilloche before placing it back down in front of him. He shook his head prettily as if to say, no, something is not right yet and bent over only slightly to grab another something from the bottommost drawer: a bright blue strand of silk. The crumpled ruffles on the edges of his nightdress bunched at his waist with the movement in a tighter, much less dignified manner than before.

The vase of flowers near the entrance to the Young Master’s room wilted from stress. And beside them, a knowing gurgle, and the crawl of many shadows. 

_Do you not know any better than to lure in a devil with silk, Young Master?_

The boy’s ears rang with heat, for he could feel the slime of his butler’s gaze beseeching all over his body, even at the prickles of little hairs on the nape of his neck, like the strangle of corroded rope. But a thickening room would not deter him in the least. He brought the silk up the cleft of his arm so that he could make himself shiver, knowing that his butler liked seeing his skin pebble. When, finally, the Young Master brought the tie up into the strands of his hair, the butler could almost taste it. He played with it, swooping it amongst loose bounces of silvered tresses this way and that, deciding where he liked it most. Once satisfied, he reached for the hairbrush once more and used it to comb his hair into a proper nobleman’s ponytail. The Young Master took his time; combing slower than usual, smoothing over himself languidly as if he were procuring slick. A slip of elbow, wide and obvious, and the silken tie had fallen from his slipping fingers and landed on the floor like pollen. 

The butler could not see the cheeky grin that had formed over his master’s face. He could hear it, that subtle squelch of spit, plinking inside of his mouth like boiled sugar.

“Your stare is stinking up the room, Sebastian. And how impolite of you, to remain so callously unannounced,” warned his Master, face still hidden, shoulders unbothered, tone uninterested.

Allegedly. 

“Make yourself useful,” he gestured to the piece of blue on the floor with the tip of his chin, “and fetch.” 

Like a cloud of hot shade, the butler stepped into the room and shut the door behind himself. 

“Pardon me, Young Master, but a humble servant such as I would do well to remember his place and not intrude upon his master’s groomings, however tempting they might be.” The butler’s approaching steps shook the ground. “Unless_s_, of course,” he slithered, “he was ordered to,” and he was beside the boy in an instant, taking a knee at his side and securing the fallen thread of silk within his gloved hand.

Instead of offering it to his master, he stood back up and crawled around the side of the little lord’s bench, bending at the waist until his grinning face could rest neatly behind the curve of the boy’s rosy, pebbled shoulder. 

They met each other’s eyes through the reflection of the mirror like glazing smoke.

“May I?” The butler asked, wanting to be the one to tie the ribbon into his master’s hair. It would have been darling, if not for the terrible way that he traced over the arch of the boy’s collar with the skids of his fanged smile. 

The Young Master could feel it, the tethering of heat between them that made his insides steam. He looked behind his shoulder then, as if he had been tickled, and with real, unreflected eye contact, told his butler yes. “You may.”

He wasted no time in taking the points of his gloves into the edge of his mouth and making a show out of removing them, for he was a savourer before _anything_ else. One at a time, both gloves fell to the ground, long forgotten. And so, the butler, with precision so fragile one would think he was pressing into soft porcelain, tangled his fingers through that which cursed him. It reminded him, distantly, of every reason that a feline might have for playing with its food. 

The little lord rolled his head as if he were enjoying himself, a loll so lazy and blasé that it made the butler chuckle rather darkly. 

_Does it feel that good, little one?_

He kneaded through the base of the boy’s cranium and for a moment, held him like a goblet, before stringing his hands out and collecting all of the hair into his fist. Soft, like holding water, and so very long. In his hands were the reigns of his urchin master, altogether tied with a perfectly blue bow. 

Once finished, the butler whispered into his master’s ear. “All done, my lord.” And then, even lower and that much slower, “how fetching you are.”

The boy stood from the stool, face flushed, back to chest, and _dared_ himself to jut his hips out against the ridges of his butler’s crunched over abdomen, adorably inconspicuous. 

“Sebastian,” pretended the Young Master, “do prepare a carriage for my outing and gather my things. I wish to--”

Like footsteps against fallen leaves, the air crunched.

“And where, my dear Young Master,” spoke the butler, squashing his master’s cheeks into the mirror, “do you think you are going?”

The Young Master struggled, slightly drooling onto the mirror, and wiggled, effectively hoisting his nightdress even further up his veering waist. And then he demanded, but not really, to be let go.

“Why? When you look so charming.” The butler’s big hands, much like the rasp of his tone, crawled underneath his master’s soft nightdress and seeped its way into the pale globe of skin just above his rosy thighs.

And he didn’t give him a chance to respond, either. One of the butler’s hands tightened around the base of his soft, young neck, and bent him into proper place against his dresser; fishy lipped and arched like a smooshed flower.

His other hand caressed and growled, delivering tiny, zippy spanks to the chubby fat of his master’s partially exposed rear. The boy, unquiet and gargled, reached behind himself uncooperatively, making grabby hands at the phantom of his incredulous butler. 

“Shh. Look at you,” coaxed the butler, wringing his hands into the Young Master’s coiffure, all ruined now (the shame), only to pull the boy back, already gasping for air, so that he could look at himself once more through the reflection in the mirror. “Like this,” began the butler, using the pad of his thumb to wipe at the drool running down the boy’s parted lips, “you look just as you did when you were a child.”

The Young Master’s blush crept up the tips of his ears and down the plume of his heaving chest.

“Filthy demon,” said the Young Master, positively exasperated, staring at himself redden. “D-do not say such uncouth things.”

The mirror showed eyes of fire, and a voice, hard like velvet, pressed into his backside. “Who are you trying to fool, Young Master? You delight in being my tiny entertainer.”

A sweep of leg and the stool that the Young Master had been sitting on was kicked to the side. Just as fast, and the butler had his master on his reddening knees, face planted between the cloth of his stretched trousers and the hard, unforgiving texture of the wooden dresser. 

“What in the,” began the Young Master, mewling like a cat. But he was cut off by a mouthful of bulging black fabric. He moved his head to the side, deliciously frantic, away from it, _the pet._

_Oh, master, how you humble me. Only you could make it this fun._

The butler chuckled again, tunnel-visioned by the wide-eyed evil whimpering from between his legs, and brought his palm over the boy’s face to see how it might look shrouded. He traced his fingers over the ghost of that squishy mouth before his flattened palm took the shape of a mask over the boy’s eyes. Shrouded. He trailed briefly to the boy’s button nose, and, for more than a second, plugged its airflow altogether. Like this, the Young Master was a perfectly warm, faceless hole, and long chains of silver hair.

The Young Master’s fists played with the backs of his butler’s kneecaps, pulling, scratching, pounding. The butler paid it no mind, too focused on the way that the boy’s wet breath sunk through his pants and fanned hotly over his cock.

“Use your hands to unbutton my trousers, if you please.”

Master did no such thing. Instead, he bit his butler’s finger as it grazed his lips and smirked around it, teeth on knuckle, as if he were proud.

“Worry not, you’ll have something to bite on soon, my greedy little master,” the butler soothed, “but I must warn you not to tempt my patience. Do as I say, now.”

Still, the boy did nothing and it was a taste on the butler’s tongue, however small, of sugary defiance. Delicious and bitter was the look upon the boy’s glossy face as the butler uncovered his hand from his eyes. A nymphean sort of evil, and those blinks of sapphire, the ones saying _tame me._

“Oh, very well.” Sighed the butler, feigning discontent, and rather theatrically, sliced through the air with the billows of many shadows. Their curled, blackened roughness sought out the comfort of the boy’s throat like feathers on honey. This way, he could hold the Young Master’s head in perfect place; pressed to the base of his lap, nuzzling into the spot where his thighs met his groin, trousers tightening directly above that angry, glistening mouth.

“Then I shall have to do it myself.” 

And he did, and this time, it was the Young Master’s turn to watch as the butler opened himself against his master’s face, already engorged and beating. Rock to porcelain. Master’s mouth had slouched apart from the drag of the butler’s cock, unfurling his sticky bottom lip against the bump of a vein. 

_You’re all lashes now, Young Master._

“Sebastian,” muffled the Young Master, covered by cock. He spoke in assert, all things considered, alongside a maddening, undignified sort of lilt as he continued, “you would not dare.” The Young Master was a smart boy, he knew exactly what he wanted, and he knew just how to get it.

“You want to hurt me?” He asked simply, eyes shiny, smirking from under his butler’s cock. 

The butler, unable to lie, stared, for he could only feel the ink of his insides churn with lust at the gentle thought of _perhaps._ Perhaps, the Young Master had even _filthier_ thoughts than him. The thought alone sent shivers of white-hot amusement to the nape of his neck, where it crowded over his composure like a swarm of locusts.

_Master. The insincerity of your innocence is surely treacherous._

“What I want is to devour you,” confessed the unlying butler, tilting the boy’s chin and kissing the head of his cock on each corner of his master’s mouth.

“No, _no_,” the butler spoke over the boy’s mewlish dejection, “where are your manners, Young Master?” He used his finger to tap on the tip of the Young Master’s scrunching nose, “good boys do not speak with their mouths full.” The boy’s eyebrows squinted, forming a look of blue-eyed humiliation. 

“Tsk-tsk,” teased the butler, waving his finger in disapproval as mismatched eyes followed their movements very closely. The boy’s eyelids lowered handsomely as his concentration neared a heightened, dizzying frame of mind. The butler enjoyed watching it happen. After a moment, once new air had settled, the butler pressed his cock into the boy’s closed mouth hard enough to touch teeth. 

“Open wide.” The butler spoke in red.

The Young Master expressed disdain by pouting around the girth of his butler’s heavy cock. A dribble of saliva ran down his chin and all at once the scratch of the carpet started to chafe his knees. He could feel himself, stretching in discomfort from the roughness of _that beast_, and secretively, naughtily, began spreading his legs so that he could feel that sweet tinge of _mm, no,_ sort of pain at the haunches of his thighs. The careless squish of his squirming tugged on his testicles almost painfully. Almost perfect. His nightshirt fell against his dewy, perspiring skin like cold tea; a disorientating contrast from the hot strangle of the shadowed belts at his throat and ankles, keeping him deadbolted to the ground. And the butler, who’s tendrils had yet to stop massaging their hold over him, knew just where to pull and prod and restrain. Instructing the muse was an artistry most pornographic.

When the Young Master’s bottom lip began to glisten with tiny drips of precome from the swell of cock that greeted his mouth, the subconscious of his slippery little tongue couldn’t help but reach itself forwards for a taste.

The butler, throbbing from tongue, nodded his head in downcasted approval. “Very good. You see?” Sweet and mocking, “I knew you wouldn’t resist.”

_That’s it. Just like that._

“Do go on, Young Master. Flick yourself on my cock, pretend that it’s that chocolate-filled profiterole you ate for dessert.”

The Young Master’s eyes, once stargaze and aflutter, now sunk with vulgarity until the only thing that he could see was the foulness pressed against his parched mouth. Tendrils garbled around his neck, trickling upward, touching his cheek with long, black, stifling caresses of encouragement. 

And then, with renounced contempt, the Young Master decidedly puckered himself on his butler’s cock and offered it a kitten’s kiss. And another, this time longer, poutier. The butler hissed in delight, unable to speak the English language, could only curve his back rather unnaturally so that he might be able to _see_ closer. He wouldn’t dare buck his hips and disrupt such a peaceful exchange, although he really wanted to, but the Young Master looked much too beautiful struggling to kiss and lick and fit cock inside of his tiny, petulant mouth. 

“Come now,” the butler growled, poking at his patience deliciously. “I know that you can do much, much better than that.”

The Young Master paused. It was with great rue that he gazed up at his butler, cock barely passed the pudge of his lips, only to pull away from its unmoving length and spit a hateful, silky glob of saliva upon it. 

_So willingly unwilling. Your lust is honied oblivion. Sweet boy, arrogant boy, I’ve reduced you to nothing but a greedy deviant. All that is left now is a slobbered mouth._

“Make me.”

A suffocating silence, followed by a deafening grin, and around them, the room turned many shades darker. Like a drop in temperature, the demon recalled some faraway notion, realizing himself aroused beyond human comprehension. 

_Sin is, perhaps a sin for the mere reason that it is most telling of a truth known as desire._

With eyes ablaze, he slithered his fingers over the Young Master’s maw once more, forcing his mouth open so that he could lay the flat of his thumb against the boy’s fatty tongue. 

“As you wish.”

Without preamble, he snapped forward, fingers hooked on the edge of the boy’s wet lips, prying his jaw apart and simultaneously stuffing himself inside of that wet, sopping heat. The curve of the boy’s throat was a syrupy, hot slit, and it made the most despicable sound. Hurt noises.

The boy struggled, the thrusts were much too sharp and deep, like a bludgeon inside of his neck. His face went sneezy around the butler’s cock, eyes shut and teary, mouth red, and full, and gagging. It seemed as though the entirety of his body now bent differently from intrusion. The boy tried and failed to gasp. Breathless, spine arching, shoulders widening, cheeks streaked with revulsion. He couldn’t breathe quite right-- with the way that plunged into his mouth, the boy could tell that the butler liked it that way. Liked fucking the air from his lungs. Liked pumping it back in. Liked the feeling of that gasping, greedy little hole.

In between an illegible growl and keening, brutish pant, the demon lost control. And then it came back, twice as strong.

There was a brief moment of refuge when he slowed to a languid pace, if only to allow the clench of his master’s throat to properly accommodate his rigid, pulsating girth. The Young Master’s arms had hugged themselves around one of his butler’s thighs out of panic. 

“My, my. How affectionate you are like this, Young Master.” Huffed the butler, whose hand had ushered a long strand of silver hair between his fingers. When it came to the Young Master, he never failed to find himself distracted.

Drool slipped from the underside of the Young Master’s mouth. As the butler’s movements slowed, it turned to slobber, making a loud, bubbled squelch. The boy didn’t seem very thankful for such a reprieve. He whined in such a dreary way. As if he might have missed the torturous soothe of being filled in such a way. 

He made to pull back, smacking off of his butler’s soppy cock with long, winding breaths of uninterrupted air and strings of spit. It tasted ragged and dry, and briefly, the boy remembered the feel of his butler’s silky precome on his hot, needing throat. 

The Young Master’s spittled mouth swelled like a bite from a raspberry. Hair spilt over his shoulders from the mess of his ponytail, wet eyes clinging and blinking open with a bright, endless stare. His arms still looped around the butler’s thighs for support, thoroughly dazed, and rightfully grumpy.

“I,” croaked the Young Master, sniffling pretty, not bothering to wipe the drool from his chin. “D-despise you.”

“Is that right?” Laughed the butler, eyes incredulous, mouth red. “Show me just how much you despise me, master.”

The Young Master pinned his butler with a look. A gentle flutter of nymphean nature, with batting eyes of blue and bright, pink cheeks of coquettish desire. Sometimes, even the most virtuous of masters told lies. He made to move away from the demon’s thigh but the demon would not let him.

_What a lovely little prisoner, fettered as you are. Held down, by me. _

“Go on. Show me what you do when _my_ cock is in front of you.”

The butler’s hand wound around his master’s chin and urged him even closer, cupping his face, massaging the sticky spit there into his cheeks. The boy tried his best to look loathsome, as the honey of his mouth clasped itself around his butler’s cock once more, but all that he could manage was a tiny, pearly mewl.

The Young Master made a moue around the head of his butler’s aching cock. As if he were sad. As if he were offended, even. But on the inside, he held onto the demon’s cock with his cheeks and _suckled._ That sick, perfect little boy even liked the taste of his own spit. Liked it enough to swaddle his tongue in such a way that cradled the underside of his butler’s cock as he bounced his cheeks inwards, and outwards, and inwards again.   
_Throbthrobthrob,_ hard and angry, against the sides of the boy’s mouth, waiting, taking, feeling.

“Goodness,” began the butler, concentrating his stare, twirling new strands of hair and bringing them forward ever so slightly to fan over the boy’s face. Hair caught on dewy, bobbing skin in drizzles of sticky silver. It tickled the Young Master’s nose, making him scrunch and frown, painting the loveliest picture. 

“Look at that.” The butler said to himself. 

His arms pleaded around the butler’s thigh, and finally, after the boy curled his tongue in such a way, the butler released him. His hands came down, laying flatly against the floor, between both of his legs, _like a good boy would_, for support, just so that he could angle his throat in such a way to better fit cock into his mouth without choking. Impressed, the butler preened the boy’s hair back, caringly, offering the boy’s head an encouraging, praising pat.

“You are so very good at this, my lord.”

The boy’s entire head lolled backwards in shame, only to be guided all the way back by a tug of hair. His butler had him bound. The thought convulsed, like a jolt of dizzying pleasure, branching throughout him, tingling at his spread-apart thighs and bent knees. His butler had just reigned him in, wanting his mouth to be closer. Pride and lust, lust and pride, it mattered little as both became one, reaching him like static and fire. From the tips of his ears to his white-hot knuckles, all over, everywhere. Its evidence dunk into the floorboards, where his own cock, sweetly neglected and hanging from between his legs kissed its weight onto the already slicked carpet only to bounce back and peek shyly from the dangle of his nightshirt. He could feel it, of course, but he could not look down and see it, for his skull was otherwise occupied. 

The butler, however, could see. 

Shame. A feeling best paired, thought the Young Master, with cock down his throat. He pinched his eyes shut, frothing in delight and discomfort, wanting more only because he did not. 

“Do you like my cock?”

Pause. And then, fear. Even the Young Master knew better than to challenge a voice like that. A noise of throaty, untamed strictness. It widened the Young Master’s mouth. Made him want to clamp down. Made him want to hide. Made him want to scream. 

He nodded shyly, eventually, bobbing with cock in his mouth, eyes sewn shut out of shuddering, all-encompassing embarrassment. 

“Open your eyes.” There was no air of pretend to his command. Gone was the butler. All there was now, was smoke, and a throbbing, inhuman authority. 

The boy obeyed, opening his eyes to the welcome of a demonic stare. It would seem that even black burned red when hot. Disorientated and woozy, the boy found that he had no choice but to flatten his hopping little tongue over the cusp of his swollen bottom lip so that he could make room for the demon’s largely pulsating cock, ramming itself into his mouth. From his position on the carpet, the boy blinked upward to note that the demon had entirely dishevelled his butler’s livery. Clasps undone, buttons torn, showing pale skin.

When had he done that? 

“It likes you too, Young Master.” 

A blush as soft as spring bled across the boy’s face, accentuating whichever glint in his watery eyes, and his full, swollen mouth. 

_Add red to blue, and it too will turn pink._

A sudden urge to tighten, to swathe and to mangle, had the demon crushing dangles of hair within the grip of his growing claws and thrusting them forward, bringing the Young Master’s head all the way in and burrowing into his neck, _right there,_ and silver, and desperate coughing, and hair.

_Master, do you not see what you do to me? Supple does not yet begin to define your ability to continuously give. Do you not see, Young Master, what starves me so?_

The demon pressed his face painfully into his cock, bright cheeks warming the demon’s navel in slow, harsh, almost circles of painful movement. He shook his head against it as if to say no. As if to scorn. His cute, little _no no, no’s,_ wiggling on the demon’s cock in such a way that only made him thrust harsher. Longer. An obscene, wet, slapping noise sent the boy’s gaze lolling back, feeling entirely abashed by the demon’s ballsack repeatedly potching his chin. 

“You’re so good to me,” he chuckled, dark and angry. “Letting me fuck your mouth like a cunt. You know what that does to me.”

The boy’s face nuzzled into the demon’s grip, mouth sopping with drool, eyes tearing, obstinately succumbing to the ache. His chest heaved and his fists trembled against the demon’s legs just as they did before, pleading for air. He remembered, suddenly, in pain and on fire, that the centre of the butler’s attention, no, of this demon’s heed, was a very dangerous place to be. Liquid pain curled into his stomach. Lust, desire, need. How could a feeling so familiar and human feel so devilish in its descent? The boy looked up at his demon, churning, a devil is a most curious thing.

The hands that wound around the Young Master’s hair pulled him back and out, making him gasp and plop, allowing a sliver of breath before colliding once more, all the way in, and withdrawing again. Like this, the demon could see the tip of his ruddy cock pulverizing the boy’s defiant mouth with each thrust. It took more than a few thwacks of cock for the boy to properly syllabize _Sebastian._

The demon held himself, engorged and angry, at the edge of the boy’s messy pout. Not even he, a wicked so vile, could behave unrelenting for so long. The Young Master was incredibly beautiful. Should he continue as he was, hard and low, he would come much too soon. “Hm?” the demon questioned, feigning expert composure, “is there something you wish to say, little lord?”

The boy’s nose began to scrunch with rage. Before it could reach the rest of his face, he was reminded of the moil inside of his belly, of that sweet heat, seething on the carpet between his legs, and smiled. Not a real smile, but an upturn of lips, swollen from cock and fluttering lashes, wet with sin. 

“Rutting like that,” the boy rasped, voice grating inside of his throat. “Tell me,” he tilted his chin, lathering his tongue along the side of the demon’s cock. Gauging, and blotchy, and ready to play. “Are you a demon or dog?” 

The demon’s face cracked. Like shedding skin, wild eyes flickered into a hellish grin, showing teeth.

_This game is yours, Young Master. It always has been, you greedy thing. Do you mean to say that you take from me, just as I take from you?_

Sneer into snarl, the butler’s expression turned to sound. A roll of tongue, canid and gnashing. Familiar to a growl. Millennia away from being a dog’s bark.

“I am I, and you,” he rumbled, memorising the face beneath him, “are the candiest thing I have ever known.”

Like the drop of a pin, the demon plunged inside of his confession, and _twisted._

“Impish boy. You need not coax me with your words.” His voice, a tone of slag and sludge. “It amuses me greatly when you assume that you have a choice.”

A backwards chuckle, covered in smudge.

“Did you not already know that I would pilfer you whole?” He spoke to nothing, not wanting an answer. 

The demon, who’s own mouth had begun watering, seized between himself and squished the boy’s face within his hand, fatty cheeks and bruised lips so that the tiny, impudent little thing could no longer speak. His other hand followed a path of soft jaw to softer cheek, and back down, this time lower, where he clung around the boy’s neck easily, index seeking thumb. The demon’s hands were cold metal bars around the boy’s flushed, surrounded neck. 

Panic had never looked so good. Blurry eyes and crisp, too-tight clenches, cloying for breath. _Gasp._ The boy’s head went thin. _Huff._ As light as a balloon. _Pant._

Once the boy began to soften, blissed out from lack of air-- the butler knew just when to shove himself forward, releasing his hold on the boy’s neck and laying his cock, full and beating, upon his pink, just-choked face. Hair to chin.

The boy’s eyes were very lovely in the way that his eyelashes kissed the gentle swell of his cheeks. One was sapphire, the other violet. The demon watched them as they blinked, unable to stomach their taunting, wicked gaze, and suddenly, became distracted by something else. The Young Master’s hair overflowed. Down his sobbing face, dipping into the curves of his gentle collarbones, billowing like shiny water down the river of his back. The demon’s growls were a blaze; climbing so hot that they burned and burned until they charred black. 

His voice of turning ash only widened the boy’s curious, twinkled stare and the demon could stand it no longer. In this game of theirs, who was draining who?

“Young Master,” he stared back, deadpan. “You turn me savage.”

Like a dog in heat, the demon descended, lacing many strands of the boy’s long hair around the very base of his heavy, pitiful cock, and everything became impossibly closer. The head of the demon’s cock nudged against the boy’s tightly pressed mouth, different from before, this time anchored by hair, long and taut. The hair was soft, just as beautiful as the Young Master’s eyes, blooming around him, matting to his cock, getting wet with stick and spit. 

He’d love nothing more than to fuck the boy like this, choked out and coarse, but the demon knew bitter from sweet and denied himself. He let go of the boy’s tightly ribboned hair, gazing at the way it spilt over his cock. 

The Young Master’s face was an incredulously round and dainty thing, especially when smushed up next to the length of the demon’s cock. Even better was the feeling of the demon’s hot, just strangled cock, pulsating against a tear-stained face. As the demon stroked himself over the boy’s runny cheeks, he tended to his lonely mouth with the pad of his thumb. But his eyes remained on the Young Master’s hair, watching as their strands flowed through his fists like glimmer. The boy’s face lit with wonder, a little taken aback, and before he could say anything, the demon plunged his thumb further into that wiggling, distracting little tongue.

“Shh.” The demon managed. _No more speaking._

Tickled by his own ferality, the demon blushed, and it was a weight, however heavy, of redhot control sinking its way onto his shoulders and descending down his body like lust, meeting at his outraged centre, where his cock was shoved into pools of pretty hair. 

A daze of sex, like some sort of primal, unhinged desire overtook him. He knew only that the Young Master’s hair felt good on his hands. It felt good on his cock. The sight alone… 

“S’now you don’t have anything to say for yourself?” The boy hiccuped against the demon’s thumb, woozy, “y-you wretch.” 

“Foolish boy,” he began from somewhere outside of their sickly sham. “Sweet, little boy.” The demon gruffed, thrusts stirring harder, wider. “Why do you act as though there isn’t a puddle between your legs?”

The very dismayed Young Master had come without notice, unknowingly, and the demon’s voice, even from the boy’s position on the floor, whispered into his ear like hot satin, “you just came from being fucked in your mouth.”

_Provocative. Disgusting. Wrong. Obscene._

The boy’s head snapped downward to find his own slicked-on cock, teetering amongst the roughness of his hanging nightdress, hot and beating, dipping slightly into the sticky mess of carpet, now stained with pearly come.

“No. Look at me,” the boy caught a glimpse of the demon’s eyes sharpening into slits as he obeyed, finally. “How very ill-mannered, Young Master.” 

Within the endless daunt of the demon’s stare is where the boy lost focus once more, dragged back into the slunk of arousal. Except now it was wanton and bold; shame without shame.

“I am not done yet. Play with me.”

The Young Master knew what he meant and obliged immediately, heading in his lust as if it were a scent and licking a path down the demon’s purpled skin that had been tangled amongst his own shiny hair. He remembered the immodesty between his legs, already leaking anew, and twisted the taste of its foulness with his tongue, and there was a tinge of a taste, however slight, of gratefulness and awe. 

_Bring a boy, however proud, to a demon’s feet and he shall caress his own shame with that same pride._

The demon encouraged him by petting his head and smearing spit into his skin. But the demon’s eyes remained locked, much like a trance, onto the wonderful twirls of his hair. Twirls of hair, the boy noted from an angle much too obscene, that the demon spun throughout the filth of his claws. 

It disgusted the boy, right on his drooling, neglected cock. Made him want to prove something. Which was why he arched, bending like a cat so that he could bring his mouth lower, to the tightened pouch of skin drawing further and further into the demon’s body. He prodded at the demon’s ballsack, licking, and slathering, and licking some more.

“Mmm,” the demon praised lowly, never thinking he’d see the day. “So very naughty, suck on it.”

The boy grinned wildly, and once he was sure that the demon could feel the teeth of his smile against his pebbled groin, gathered hair into his fingers and intertwined their strands back on to the demon’s cock himself. This time, with his own, small and dainty hand, began to stroke. 

_Precariously. Languidly. Torturously. Incessantly._

His head angled to the side, tongue smeared underneath the slab of cock that he fist fucked against his face. He could see hair. And piercing, mottled eyes.

“Ly thish?” The boy smacked, mouth dreadfully full.

The demon’s tendrils were wasps on the boy’s skin, latching onto his spine and his neck, angling him just right. It was so rash, and vehement, and deliberate, that their shadows wiggled on the boy’s cock just barely-- the boy _moaned_ because of it. All it took was that soft, throttled gasp of little boy breath, startled from movement, for the demon’s fangs to drip venom.

“Young Master,” the demon beckoned. “I’m... yes. Like that. Open those eyes, just for me. Good boy.” He came, thick spurts on the boy’s hair and all on his face, drooling down his cheek, clinging to his eyelashes. Sometime during, the Young Master had smatted the demon’s cock against his lips and began kissing the come from his slit. 

_Greedy, terrible, sweet boy._

The demon fell into the scent of himself on the Young Master, weak-kneed and careless. He gathered the boy, limbs and skin, and sprawled above him on the carpet. Smelling into his neck, tasting come from within his swollen mouth and sucking it from his face, succumbing to the sweetness and still, twirling hair. 

“Are you pleased with yourself?” The Young Master eventually said, muffled against the crook of his demon’s neck, purring. They were both warm, very warm, making the boy wiggle under the demon’s weight like a happy, curious kitten.

On the carpet beside them, a ribbon of blue silk caught their attention. 

The demon chuckled against the boy in a way that made him shudder all over again. Their lips met once more, and after a long, telling kiss, the demon’s words hushed over the boy’s open mouth like heavy fog.

“Not quite.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://teasmudge.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Make my day and leave a kudos and a comment, I dare you c;


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